Teenage Dreams
by Piscean Papillion
Summary: A short ficlet on the nature of Michael’s relationship with Brian and Justin from Queer as Folk. Introspective humour, and not overly slashy.


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_ I do not own Queer as Folk, either the American or UK version. I'm just one of those poor souls who, not owning the series, is otherwise inclined to write about it. Don't sue me, I claim to own nothing. Except artistic ability and creativity. Right?_

A short ficlet on the nature of Michael's relationship with Brian and Justin from Queer as Folk. Based on a challenge to write a short story centering around your user icon from LiveJournal. Well, mine just happened to be a picture of the three main QAF boys with the word "Threesome." Obviously homosexual content. Enjoy!

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**Teenage Dreams**

I'd known him first, owned him first, and possession is nine-tenths of the law. He was that beautiful boy I dreamed about as the horny teenager touching myself underneath the sheets and hoping mom wouldn't hear when I moaned his name and came into my hand. Teenagers, I suppose, are really stupid. He was so untouchable. From the first moment I realized what I was, who I was, he was there and I was reaching out my fingertips, straining to caress. I never managed more than that quick fumble when we were both mid-teens and a few times, drunk off his ass or high like a drugged-up twinkie. Mostly those teenage dreams of instant gratification, stuck in my mind past age thirty and I'm still following him, lovesick puppy. Comes from being half Italian and half drag queen, I suppose. I still blame teenage hormones that never shriveled away.

But as much as I want to hate teenagers and teenage stupidity and teenage dreams, it was a teenager that snagged him. Beautiful, blond, with a mouth that the straightest guy wouldn't mind tasting and an ass that a Calvin Klein model couldn't compete with. The blondie danced his way into _my_ guy's pants, underage and nervous and still testing the label "fag" on his tongue. He had him with a single glance and suddenly all my teenage dreams and reaching out with my fingertips just died, lost all potency. I'm not stupid, I'm just possessive – and I recognize love, or what he knows as love, quicker than Cupid ever could. I was officially only the Best Friend for the rest of my natural fucking life. And how I wanted to hate the blond teenager, and how I wanted to hate my Sex God of a best friend. But how I couldn't. They were the epitome of those fantasies under the blanket with mom pacing around underneath on the stairs, hearing me and pretending not to except when she was really pissed. The epitome of every teenage dream.

It's a late night now and they are both floating and looking at me dazed on the dance floor at Babylon. Ben is giving me a blue-eyed stare and I swear he can read my mind and knows what I've been brooding about this whole Friday night. He glances in their direction and gives me a shrug and the smile that makes me melt and I see his mouth moving, "I'll see you home later," giving me permission to go with the floating dreams and help them get home safely and except for the blond, it is just like frustrating reaching out with the fingertips old times. I force them into my car and off we go and in what seems like the eternity of nine minutes we're at his loft and stumbling over to his bed. I take off their shoes, take of their shirts, and tuck them up like a good little Best Friend does before rising to leave.

And wait. My arm is being tugged and they are both up past the shoved-aside covers and giving me looks much more cognizant than the Babylon twinkie stare. I pull away my arm and back away slowly, but they are up and temptation is looking me in the face with naked chests and obvious hard-ons and I think, _how did they trick me for those whole nine minutes_? and I am muttering something about Ben, whom I love. Love, when the blond whispers "you know he knows" and the Sex God whispers "he wants you to" because doesn't everyone know about my obsession with teenage dreams?

As I fall into bed with them I think of all those time under the blankets thinking about him and this is it, culmination of the desire. But then Justin is unzipping my pants with his teeth and Brian is making a wet trail down my neck and all those deep thoughts are replaced by a single word, a word that is somehow saying something that existed from the beginning, from the first time I saw him he saw him I saw them they saw me.

Threesome.

Now _that's_ a teenage dream.


End file.
